Grissom's Grand Tour
by Moonstarer
Summary: Yet another story based on spoilers for the upcoming season but, to make things different from the others, this one's from Grissom's point of view. Warnings:Spoilers for season 10 obviously but v.little angst;for me at least. I don't own CSI or Scooby Doo


**Grissom's Grand Tour**

"**You find no man, at all intellectual, who is willing to leave London. No, Sir, when a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford."**

Samuel Johnson 1709- 1784

Samuel Johnson was wrong. Gil Grissom, unquestionably an intellectual man, was ready to leave London, well almost, anyway. He had one more event scheduled for this evening, followed, hopefully, by a good night's sleep and _then_ he would be ready to leave. And he wasn't tired of life – far from it these days, however he was ready to leave London because his interest in life depended not on where he happened to be at the time, but who he was with and the person he wanted to be with was currently somewhere else.

"Well, I suppose I should get going," he quirked an eyebrow at the figure lying on the hotel bed as he shrugged on the warm blouson jacket that he had bought with Sara's advice once they had discovered that the weather in the UK in early Fall could vary from pleasantly warm one day to chilly the next with no apparent pattern. Sara had insisted on this particular coat because she thought the style was perfect for him. Grissom wasn't so sure, indeed it was very similar to a brown suede jacket he'd had in the past but he wasn't sure it would be much use in this climate, because it would leave his backside too exposed. However, when he'd mentioned that to Sara she'd just grinned and said "and that's exactly why it suits you". In the end he'd sighed, paid for it, and then gone to look elsewhere in the store for thermal underwear.

There was no response from the bed, but Grissom wasn't expecting any. Sara had left him again, not permanently this time, thank God, but, in a move that had shaken him almost as much, she had gone back to Las Vegas after receiving a call from Catherine requesting her presence. Of course he'd immediately offered to go with her, or even in her place, but Sara had refused. The main reason for including England in their Grand Tour hadn't been covered at that point, but it was already arranged and that had taken a lot of doing including some begging to Ecklie to pull some strings. Sara had been adamant that Grissom should not miss it after all that. It was only while he'd actually been at the appointment earlier that day that he'd realised that Sara might have been quite happy not to be with him, although he was surprised that she'd gone back to a place she'd felt so uncomfortable about in the past to avoid it. At least Catherine had promised him that she would keep an eye on Sara for him and keep her out of stressful situations as much as was humanly possible. Catherine had agreed to the terms while still keeping an apparent promise to Sara that she wouldn't tell Grissom exactly what the trip was going to be about. It had all been very frustrating but he and Sara had been working hard on their relationship after all the ups and downs they'd gone through both together and apart and he wasn't about to spoil it by arguing with her now.

They'd started their visit to England a few weeks ago, with the Lake District, which Sara had wanted to see because she'd heard that the colours of the leaves in Fall could rival those of New England. Those few days had pretty much involved Grissom quoting Wordsworth on the shores of Grasmere, even though it was six months before there would be any daffodils; Grissom reading from _Swallows and Amazons_ as they drifted in a hired boat on Buttermere; and Grissom quoting Beatrix Potter beside a rather choppy looking Lake Windermere. The next day Sara had made sure Grissom couldn't quote anything at all by dragging him on a long hill walk which she seemed to have planned and paced perfectly to keep him almost always too out of breath to talk but not to put too much stress on his aging knees. They'd only gone to Blackpool because, while they were in their hotel bar to buy Grissom a medicinal glass of scotch to help him recover, they had ended up talking to a couple from Lancashire who were a few years older than Grissom and, when they found out where the younger couple were from, they had insisted they must visit the "Vegas of the North" especially as they were in England now, while "t'Luminations" were on.

It had been an amusing side trip on their way to a two day stay at Grissom's choice of destination, Alton Towers theme park. On the day they'd arrived they'd decided that there really wasn't that much comparison between the English seaside town and the American desert city, although the two places shared a similar lack of sophistication and surfeit of slot machines. Still, they'd both found it romantic, once night had fallen, to walk along the sea front with the sound of the waves on one side and the gaudy Illuminations mostly on the other except for a few tableaux and the occasional illuminated tram car. Sara loved the one disguised as a space rocket; Grissom favoured the locomotive with its matching carriage.

They did have a couple of heated debates during their time there. The first, lighter hearted, one had been over which imitation of the Eiffel tower was the taller, the one in Blackpool or the one outside the Paris casino hotel on the Las Vegas Strip. When they'd finally managed to look up the information Sara had lost to Grissom, but he'd conceded that he'd only been correct about the Vegas tower being taller because he'd remembered the information from something he'd read in the past. To both of them Blackpool Tower had given the impression of being higher and they decided that it was because they'd been able to see it long before reaching Blackpool itself due to the flatness of the surrounding landscape and because, unlike in Las Vegas, there were no other tall buildings nearby to reduce its prominence.

The second 'debate', unfortunately rather less playful, had also involved tall structures, this time the various roller coasters to be found at Blackpool's amusement park, the Pleasure Beach.

Knowing that they both needed to learn to compromise in order to make things work better between them, Grissom and Sara had discussed a few 'ground rules' before setting off on their global wanderings and one of these was that they would visit no more than two theme parks in any country they visited. Because Blackpool hadn't been on their planned itinerary the Pleasure Beach exceeded Grissom's quota but, after a couple of days of Grissom trying to hide his longing looks towards the park, Sara had agreed to go. She had discovered that park entry was free and Grissom could just pay to go on the one or two roller-coasters that attracted him the most instead of the two of them having to pay for all inclusive tickets that Sara wouldn't get much value from. All had gone well at first, until Grissom decided on the first ride he would like to try. Somehow he ended up coming away from the ticket office with an all day, all rides wrist band, instead of a single ticket. Grissom might have been given the hard sell but Sara suspected he hadn't really put up much resistance. She decided to leave the park, but couldn't bring herself to drag the miscreant with her. Instead she told him she didn't want to see him until it was time to get ready to have dinner at their hotel. So Grissom had spent the day riding The Infusion, The Big One and the Grand National, among others, but it was more in the way he'd used to ride them back in Vegas as a catharsis after a long and difficult shift than for the fun of it.

Just before dinner there had been a knock on the hotel door and Sara opened it to be greeted by a large plush Scooby Doo saying "wowwy" shortly before a very ashamed looking Gil's head had appeared round the door frame. Sara couldn't help laughing at the stuffed toy her husband had won for her at a shooting gallery in the park. In the process Grissom had scared the man running the stall, not just because of his accuracy, but because of the speed at which he had adapted to the deliberately misaligned sight on the rifle too.

Even though he had been forgiven, Grissom had wanted to stick to their new policy of mutual compromise and he'd suggested giving up going to one of the two theme parks scheduled to come later on their trip. However they had already booked into one of the hotels at Alton Towers and Sara had actually been quite keen to go to Chessington World of Adventures, which had a zoo and aquarium that she could explore while her partner was indulging his own interest.

The argument had ended when Sara had played her trump card. She didn't mind having to compromise in Grissom's favour a little, after all hadn't he made the biggest compromise of all by giving up his home and the career he loved to be with her?

In the end that was why Gil had given in to the idea of Sara returning to Las Vegas without him. He'd made her agree that this sacrifice on her part would wipe the slate clean, she could no longer use his decision against him in their fights; which always ended up being more about who could make the biggest sacrifice in favour of the other, instead of which of them would get their own way.

So Sara had left and Grissom found himself taking his leave from a stuffed brown and black Great Dane before heading into the gathering dark of a Fall evening in London.

The hotel was on Baker Street, the famous address had seemed an obvious choice when the two ex-criminalists had been looking for somewhere to stay in the capital. It was convenient too, a pleasant walk across Regent's Park would take them to London Zoo and, of course, the Sherlock Holmes Museum wasn't far away. Grissom had enjoyed that museum, even if it was tiny, but the walk across the park hadn't been the same without Sara and he'd spent most of his time at the zoo in the insect house, trying to find peace in entomology and social contact by chatting with the keeper of the collection.

Baker Street itself had been a little disappointing. Although many buildings did date back to the time of the Holmes stories, a lot did not and the level of traffic made it clear that this was the twenty-first century, not the nineteenth. Even the enticing dome of the former London Planetarium had been a come down after Grissom found out that it was now used for light and laser shows as part of the neighbouring Madame Tussauds rather than anything more seriously astronomical. However, now that he had reached the entrance to Baker Street Underground station, Grissom could feel some relief. Descending in the direction of the Metropolitan Line was almost like travelling back in time as he passed tile work decorated with a silhouetted image of Sherlock Holmes before entering a part of the station that had been restored to the way it had looked when the line had first opened in the 1860s. Even as he got on the eastbound train towards Aldgate, Grissom resolved not to let the modernity of his surroundings break into his consciousness as he tried to maintain a frame of mind suitable for this evening's excursion. Instead he focussed on remembering his appointment of earlier that day; the one he had been anticipating so much, which was why he had pre-booked that night's activity as the perfect ending to what he'd hoped would be an interesting day.

About ten hours earlier he'd been outside New Scotland Yard or, as his research had informed him, the new New Scotland Yard, as it was the second building to have held that name. Not that nomenclature had originally meant much in the history of London's Metropolitan Police, even the first Scotland Yard had got its name from the address of the police station _behind_ the main Police Headquarters, which had actually been on Whitehall, a street which in turn lent its name to the part of the British civil service concerned with government, many of the departments of which still had their headquarters there.

The current New Scotland Yard was a concrete and glass tower block that held no more external signs of history to it than LVPD headquarters did. All the same Grissom had stood for quite some time watching the rotating triangular sign declaring the name of the building and that the inmates were "working for a safer London", until he became aware that he was being observed by armed police officers. They were probably used to gawking tourist but, while he was used to working with police officers who, unlike those in the United Kingdom, were customarily armed, he was less comfortable with ones who wore flak jackets and carried semi automatics cradled in their arms unless they were part of a SWAT team and well ahead of him going into a suspect's house. It had been an interesting contrast to him to observe that unarmed officers in the UK nearly always wore stab vests while armed officers in the US were mostly happy in shirt sleeves unless they were facing a known threat, but the officers who kept watch in certain key areas of London clearly meant business.

Pushing his way through a revolving door had decanted Grissom into the well lit, air conditioned, reception area of the building. A few clues to the fact that this wasn't the ordinary office block it looked like from the outside had become immediately obvious to the retired CSI. One was a sign declaring that today's current threat level was "substantial", another was the turnstiles that had blocked his way to the elevator lobby, most of which seemed to operate on a card scanning system, although a couple at one end were guarded by the woman on reception who wore a blue uniform, but did not appear to be a police officer herself.

Approaching the desk, Grissom had stated his reason for visiting, supporting it with a letter of introduction and his passport for ID purposes. He was then directed towards a small waiting area and told that someone would collect him soon.

After several minutes of discovering the delights of "The Job" newspaper, Grissom had been greeted by a smiling man wearing the civilian uniform although Grissom had somehow guessed that he was a retired police officer. After an exchange of introductions the man declared, "So, you're the SOCO from America."

"Socko?"

"Scenes of Crime Officer – what we call our Forensics guys – most of them are civilians."

"Oh, right, in Nevada we're known as CSIs – Crime Scene Investigators, or just Criminalists. We're civilians too, although that's not true in all States, but I'm retired now anyway."

"Yes, you said in your email. Officially we're usually only open to serving Police Officers but your professional reputation and academic standing make me more than happy to welcome you, although we have no entomological exhibits at the moment, I'm afraid."

After accepting a visitor's pass from the receptionist, Grissom had followed his guide through one of the turnstiles and upstairs to the entrance of their destination. He'd been pleasantly amused to see that the room was numbered 101, even though it was on what was to him the second floor. Was the literary reference deliberate or accidental, he had wondered?

Entering the Metropolitan Police's Crime Museum, popularly known as "The Black Museum" was quite an experience. In stark contrast to the modernist building it was housed in, the room had been made to replicate the collection's first home in the original Scotland Yard. This room housed the museum's collection of weapons and had displays of exhibits related to crimes committed before 1900, but Grissom's attention had gone first to a collection of life size modelled heads staring down at him.

"That little lot is usually the first thing people spot," the curator smiled, "they're death masks of people hanged at Newgate Prison for their crimes – some using the actual nooses over there." Grissom wandered over following the pointed finger. "Does your part of the USA still have the death penalty?"

"Yes, by lethal injection." Grissom had kept his answer brief and his guide had picked up on that reluctance to discuss the subject and hadn't asked anything more.

"OK, well, feel free to browse. I'll keep out of your way; just let me know if you have any questions or when you're ready to be escorted out of the building."

Grissom had once told Catherine that "the case doesn't have a face", when the first execution case she'd been involved in investigating had reached its very final conclusion. At that point he'd been associated with two such cases and there'd been a third since but he'd kept his personal rule, once the evidence was through his hands and his testimony was given, that was it, he wasn't responsible for making the laws, deciding guilt or assigning penalties and he had always tried to put that side of things as far from his mind as possible. Looking up at those death masks he honestly hadn't been able to imagine the faces of any of the perpetrators in those former cases to add them to the line.

There was however, one face currently on Death Row that Grissom had been able picture far too well. Jeffrey McKeen was currently under sentence of death, not only had he committed or been involved in multiple murders, at least two of those were considered to be aggravated, Warrick's, because it counted as "the killing of a peace officer because of an act performed in his official capacity", (and the former under-Sheriff could hardly claim he hadn't known what Warrick's job was), and the other because it was done as part of an attempt to escape justice. Of course there could be years of appeals yet before the sentence might be carried out, but for a brief moment, Grissom hadn't been able to help imagining the man's face up with the others and he'd felt a brief, guilty, pleasure.

Shaking his head to clear both the vision and the memories from his mind, Grissom had begun to explore the rest of the small museum, barely noticing the other people who were also visiting the museum, which was immensely busy in spite of the restrictions on who was allowed to visit, as he moved between displays and into the second room. That one had been less atmospheric in its decor but just as harrowing in its content, the displays being related to crimes of the Twentieth century. Initially Grissom's main interests in both rooms were the crimes that were considered to have been landmark cases for forensic science; and those such as Thomas Cream and Dr. Crippen who had trans-Atlantic ties; but he couldn't resist the items connected to Jack the Ripper and soon began poring over almost every item he came across in either room. In the end his escort had needed to quietly remind him that it was time to leave, entry to the two room museum was so much in demand that individuals browsing times had to be limited to allow more people a fair chance to look around.

Grissom came out of his reverie just as the train was entering Liverpool Street Underground Station. Knowing his was the next stop he gathered his wits together in preparation. His visit to the Black Museum had been the highlight of his stay in London, but now he was about to cap things off with a walking tour of the East End visiting a number of locations connected with the Ripper murders.

As promised, there was a guide in Victorian costume at the specified entrance to the Tube station, with a number of tourists already gathered round him. Grissom approached and had his name ticked off the list. This was a pre-booked tour that actually sent out reading material to be looked at before starting the walk. Not that the handout had told him anything he didn't already know about the murders, but it had been a useful indicator. If the information had been incorrect or needlessly over dramatised Grissom would have been forewarned to drop out rather than waste his time on a badly researched rip off. Not that he'd been too worried; the guide of this tour was a published Ripperologist in his own right, not just someone who'd learnt their words by rote. All the same, in contrast to earlier that day, he'd signed up as plain Mr. Gil Grissom, not doctor, and promised himself he'd only involve himself in any deep discussions of theories about the cases if others started them first and he felt it was going to be a sensible debate. He didn't want to spoil things for himself or others by getting too wound up or delaying the tour. Even more importantly, he didn't want to find himself in a position where he looked like he knew more than the guide and end up virtually having to give the talk for him. Realising that he'd started to frown he shook his head to disperse the negative assumption and converted it to a secret smile, even as someone who'd spent most of his adult life in Las Vegas he would consider it a safe bet that no-one else on this tour had spent time earlier that day examining the _original_ letters that "Jack" was supposed to have written.

As the group set off into the back streets Grissom's smile turned into a grin, it was going to be a fun evening.

That night, Grissom poured himself a whisky from the mini bar and sat contemplating for a while in preparation for filling out his journal, something else about him that Sara seemed to find amusing but which he felt was an important part of this modern day equivalent of the Victorians' Grand Tour. His mouth twisted a little as he caught sight of his wedding ring, should he really feel so content with life and the day's activities when his wife was over five thousand miles away? The ring was a plain band, made of platinum instead of the traditional gold. Sara had joked that she'd wanted it to match his hair colour as a sign of just how long it had taken them to get together, but eventually she'd admitted that she'd wanted something "a little different from everyone else's" to show that their relationship was a little different too. _Maybe I should think about that?_ Grissom mused, as his mind wandered back to the day's earlier thoughts of Warrick. Warrick's marriage to Tina hadn't just fallen apart because they'd gone ahead with it in a rush after Nick's abduction ordeal, there seemed to have been a general collapse of communication and the willingness to allow for each other's different needs, so much so that they hadn't even been able to agree on the joint custody of their child. He ran his hand through his hair distractedly for a moment. Were he and Sara already headed for a similar fate? Maybe having a relationship that was a little different from everyone else's meant allowing each other to have time to themselves? He and Sara probably had idealised views of marriage because their childhoods hadn't allowed them to observe the normal give and take first hand. Maybe they shouldn't expect more of each other than they were able to give?

He knew one thing, even though this time hadn't been quite the same, it still felt to him like Sara would rather leave him behind than have him try and help her through difficult times. Worse still, she had a habit of going in such a way that he had no chance to dissuade her. This was the third time she'd done it so, rather than expect her to change her attitude; maybe he should try and change his?

As he filled the page of his journal with the curves of his distinctive handwriting, Grissom's brain continued to process the idea. By the time he laid the pen down and began to ready himself for bed he had come to a conclusion._ After all, what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander,_ he thought.

On his way down to breakfast the following morning, Grissom called in at the hotel's reception desk. He was pleased to hear that they were happy to keep his room as an open ended booking, at least until things got busier with Christmas shoppers in December. Returning to his room he logged on and cancelled his reservation on a direct flight to Las Vegas, thankful that his round the world ticket allowed him to make last minute changes without much penalty, however it was too late to get a refund on his rail ticket to Gatwick Airport. Once he was done he checked the time, just after 10 a.m. in London making it a little after 2 a.m. in Nevada. Sara would either be in bed right now or busy at the lab with the rest of Graveyard, and neither situation was one he wanted to disturb, but nor did he want to have the thought of telling her preying on his mind all day.

His mouse pointer hovered over the icon for his email program. He might not have liked getting to hear Sara's major decisions about their relationship in written or recorded form but clearly it hadn't occurred to Sara that there was anything wrong with those methods, if she thought they were good enough for him then presumably she would be happy that they were enough for her.

_Dearest Sara,_ he typed.

_Thank you for not making me miss yesterday, it was a great experience, but maybe not one you would have found so good; although you clearly don't have the issues we both once thought you did. Anyway, thinking about it, I realised that there are a lot of other things I'd like to see while I'm here that might not interest you, a lot of boring art galleries and Kew Gardens, (yes I know it's almost Winter), for a start. You tell me that you're enjoying yourself where you are right now, so I decided to stay for a while._

_I know it's out of the blue and that we'll miss each other but I'm sure that Christmas in Paris will mean even more because of it._

_Call me when you get this and we can talk then,_

_All my love,_

_Gil XXX._

Hitting send he leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment then opened them and reached for his tube map, he'd heard there were several excellent museums in South Kensington. Gil Grissom wasn't tired of London yet.


End file.
